


Sweet Companions

by orphan_account



Category: Carmilla (Web Series), Carmilla - All Media Types, Carmilla - J. Sheridan Le Fanu
Genre: Blood Drinking, Bottom Laura, Eventual Smut, F/F, Fluff and Smut, Gentle Sex, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, Loss of Virginity, Porn with Feelings, Protectiveness, Smut, Top Carmilla
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-02
Updated: 2016-09-09
Packaged: 2018-08-12 12:01:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7933876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In keeping with the web-series, Carmilla and Laura are trapped in the library beneath Silas University when an act of bravery reconfirms their love; kicking off a series of sweet and fluffy linear stories that will include: first-time sex, languid and gentle sex, possessive body worshiping and Carmilla hopelessly in love and protective.</p><p>'An easy and addictive read.' -- Maya Angelou, American poet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. When You Were Here Before

**Author's Note:**

> Please consider this chapter a prologue of sorts.
> 
> I've seen a couple of stories that delve into the concept of Carmilla feeding on Laura and it always seems to come off as a very sexualised interaction. I've always felt that if there was a circumstance where Carmilla was truly hungry and had no choice but to feed on Laura it would be a dark affair.
> 
> P.S Please go and read Silence Looks Good on You by BADAAX! It's a prime example of stellar second perspective writing and the story is absolutely sublime!

There was something that bordered the beautiful macabre when it came to watching the stars at night.

You knew most of them had already dimmed and died more than a millennia ago. Instead, what you are left with are the revenants of stars that once were; it's this that captivates you with such weighted fervency and on your worst nights brings an evil kind of pain that gnaws at the lining in your chest. As if only the stars could possibly empathise with your eternal existence, and trapped in the catacombs of the library beneath Silas University; weak without the blood you need for sustenance, it's the stars at night you miss above all else from the world that continues on above you.

You wake with a startle; gasping and retching for air that your body refuses you. The children murmur above you, toddlers, muttering among themselves about what to do; half hope that you're entirely you and half agony that you might turn on them any minute.

It's enough to make you wince that these wisplings believe they can exert their control over you like a beast to be tamed. You flop back down on the jacket they've folded into a makeshift pillow and wheeze a pained groan.

"You need not worry," You assure them quietly. "I don't devour my friends this close to dinner time; it spoils my appetite." your eyes flutter close once again.

"Carmilla,"

The noise stirs you, "Hmm?" you groan.

"Carmilla, wake up." she whispers again and crouches beside you, knees dug into the stone, hands gently clasping your face with a tenderness that melted the impenetrable ice cavern of your chest. "Please tell me what to do… you haven't drank anything for over a week." she pleads in that violently desperate way and you almost feel guilty; but you are older and wiser and you know better.

You've appraised this for days and counted endless plans, one through a hundred, backwards and forwards appraising them against one another and this one; the one where you starve yourself of the thick venous liquid that sustains your life is the only one where you minimise the risk of devouring Laura whole as if she's a piece of ripened fruit ready to be plucked.

Your eyes open and you peer at her just long enough to see thick tears drip off her cheeks and wet your neck like the first rains of spring. What a strange comfort there is in being held and tended to... having someone love you and cry over your broken crumpled pile. Oh, how the mighty fall, you thought and tempered a little sob that threatened to wrack your body.

"Please, Carmilla, just feed!" she wipes her eyes and demands you, her beastling, to obey her. The cup of thick venous liquid is pushed to your lips once more but you howl a long noise that's beyond a scream; it escapes your chest and makes them all shudder.

Scratched is the skin on your chest, as if you could ever bury deep enough with your nails to claw the lining of your lungs and make that growling noise stop. The smell fills your nose and scalds your palate with a particular kind of violence and all you can do is scurry backwards into the corner and set your knuckles between your teeth to maintain some control. It kills you and all you can think about is downing the whole glass, running your tongue around the rim and gathering every drop of blood and quenching a deep endless thirst that has unequivocally rotted your insides and turned you parasitic; you can feel it, the warmth of your gut as you start to pull and synthesize the iron from the furthest stretches of your body. It's still better than the alternative.

You won't drink from the cup, and you can't, because the smell of the blood is all too familiar. It's filled with the scent of wildflowers and sunlight on skin and innocent wile, and so you know the blood in the cup belongs to your innocent and beautiful companion.

"Why won't you feed." Laura growls angrily and shakes your weak shoulders with a strength that wouldn't normally mess your hair.

It's the thought of the blood lust taking over; the vivid idea of the thirst being so unquenchable that one glass won't be enough, you will lose control and drain her and her merry band of halfwits until they're nothing more than wide-eyed shells littering the ground. It's this nightmare that drives the wailing noise from your chest _every_ time they shove the nectar filled cup beneath your twitching nose.

"You _know_ heroics cause me undue suffering and distress, but I have to abide the ethics you have tutored me in so graciously." you grind your jaw and lie, "I will not risk you… I won't be able to control myself." you shudder and that part is the truth, the idea that fills you to the brim with a sad kind of concession. "I never was one for moderation." you cough and whisper in that poised and tempered dark tone that is so insatiably you to Laura's ears.

"Carm, you're _dying."_ Laura chokes and her hands are cupped around her mouth as if she's shielding you from the words. It makes you smile.

"Oh cupcake, it was always the plan, eventually at least."

Laura breaks into violent sobs that are fueled by a vicious kind of hatred that comes hand in hand with loving a monolith. You've seen it before in Elle. It's a pain they all come to know well and tonight it erodes the lining of her lungs until she's forced to breathe a deep breath that stretches out and shakes her ribs; she glances over her shoulder in embarrassment and waits for LaFontaine or JP to notice but they look away, ashamed and repulsed as they are at their own failings.

"C'mere," You tiredly lift one of your arms and appraise your little human.

"No," She says with anger dripping from her mouth. "How can you be so cruel?" her lips pull into a snarl, "I killed a man, Carmilla. I stood there, and I ended his life to save you... I _did_ that!"

A peculiar bile rises into the chasm of your throat as you watch your tiny human; shuddering, sobbing venomously, clutching her mouth as if it would somehow keep a breath in her chest. "Come here," you say a little firmer and pat your shoulder.

She does as she's told; tucking her head into the crook of your pale neck, breathing in a soft and favourite smell that always lingers there like an old friend, or so she always tells you. Your arm snakes across the expanse of her waist; thumb dancing over the tiny bit of skin on her hip that you love ardently.

"Dearest, this too will pass," you hush and wipe your lover's tears, "Can we pretend that when you get out of here, you'll go back to your father and stay away from anglerfish gods and vampire hunters?"

"Carm—"

"Just pretend with me, for tonight, please?"

"Okay," Laura's voice wobbles and relief washes over you.

"I know you must be angry with me."

"Oh you have no idea," Laura shakes with disbelief and wipes her eyes, "Livid comes to mind."

"Laura, can I ask you something?" you say sincerely with the inside of your lip between your teeth; chewing and nervous. You hate yourself already, because this is weakness and you should know better; you should be better, you are three-hundred years old and one day you will watch the stars burn out one by one and you should be above humanity by now… but you're not.

"Mmm," she makes a little noise.

"Do you love me?" you ask with a simmering need and take her hand, holding it with a fond pressure that you renewed again and again; blushing softly, gazing at her with soft languid eyes that saw her deepest truth.

"More than I ever thought possible." Laura kisses you so gently you feel like you might evaporate into a gaseous state.

Her tongue brushes against yours; forehead to forehead, hand cupping the edges of your jawline. You deepen the kiss the way you always do, but all you can taste is Laura's pulse beating feebly against your tongue and it takes every bit of restraint not to devour her whole. Instead you gently push her away and bite your mouth with an unwavering ardor that also serves to keep your gnashing teeth occupied.

"Carm if you don't feed, I'll make you!" Laura shoves the center of your chest, "I will. I'll force you to feed!" she growls; chest heaving, desperate and untempered in all the ways that excite you the most.

But with it, you smile sadly, "I don't doubt that you could, dearest." you whisper.

It's JP who interrupts you both first; blithering and nervous with hands in his pockets that he wasn't quite sure what to do with. "Miss Carmilla, I assume you have a plan?" he encourages you.

"The storage closet," you nod off towards it, "Lock me in there, barricade it, and don't open it again until the noises stop."

"I could help?" LaFontaine offers as a last resort; they blink away the woozy feeling from where JP fed a short time ago and you know this person would be willing to bleed their self dry; possibly for the moot ethics that they along with your innocent companion take great pleasure in trying to force upon an arbitrary universe. But part of your wonders whether you've earned your place among this band of underdogs with your own merits. Ultimately, it's of no use though, LaFontaine can barely keep JP fed like a scraggly wolf that's never quite full, always precariously between tame and wild.

"It's okay, really." you assure LaFontaine softly with scalding tears in the corners of your eyes. "All things must come to an end."

Two days pass before JP carries your limp shaking frame inside the emptied out cupboard; draped over his arms like a bit of cloth, barely breathing with dark eyes that are more beast than they are girl. You can hear Laura howling, you turn just in time to watch LaFontaine hold her back like breakers that kept the morning tide at bay and for that you're grateful.

"She won't be able to control herself much longer." you hear them tell her, "Your blood won't be enough, she won't stop until her blood lust is satiated." their voices grow harder to hear as JP does as you've told him and locks the door with you crumpled and withering away on the cold stone.

The hunger is insatiable; it's a dark and venomous thing that poisons you from the inside out and you don't dare to think of how long you will suffer like this before the parts of you that are consciously Carmilla rot away and die. 'Sip slowly, dear girl.' your mother had grinned down at you and laughed before they sealed your tomb, and sip slowly you did.

It was the winter of 1929 when you licked away the last sliver of dried blood that had seeped into the oak. You know it was the winter of 1929 because you carved three-thousand six-hundred and forty-seven strikes into the lid of your tomb to mark each passing day, not that you ever counted, but you have it on good authority from the assistant curator of the museum where the remnants of your tomb is stored.

You don't remember anything past the first month of your decade stretch if truth be told, there reached a point where you rotted away and died, giving life to the ghoul that lives inside of you, you woke up on the battlefield of the last great war with a satiated hunger as if no time had passed.

They called that day the Boy Massacre of Graz — a hundred Hitlerjugend; teenage boys drafted into the youth programme for the future of the glorious Aryan brotherhood, found dead in the snow on their way to Vienna. It's blurry and you don't remember it well, but you know the eight-hundred fatalities that day belonged to you.

Four more days pass before the wailing sounds of hunger start to ring around the walls, it was another day after that before you realise you were even the cause of the noise, bloodlust takes you as its lover; and when the heavy thuds of your bloodied fists banging at the door punch holes in the silence; when the soft sound of you begging and pleading to be free claw at the door; that's when you hear Laura cry broken pitiful sobs into the silence of night, as your hunger worsens, your senses peak like a predator honing in on it's prey.

"—What about the basement underneath the hospital, could we get there in time?" You hear her ask desperately one evening after LaFontaine and JP turn up empty handed from their latest attempt at acquiring enough blood to gorge you with. "She's going to die, isn't she?" she nearly explodes and you are entirely too hungry to care anymore.

"I've researched everything I could find but there really isn't much information on how long a vampire can last sans haemoglobin." LaFontaine says and you kick the door with an almighty thud that costs you what's left of your energy reserves, you know it made them all flinch, but none more than Laura who felt it in the core of herself; winded and despondent, you can hear her pulse slow to the speed of a dripping faucet.

"I'm not leaving her." Laura sniffs and swallows the gnawing pain in her throat, "She saved us so many times, never asked for much in return… just me... I was all she wanted." she muses out loud and you can practically hear her shrug her shoulders into mountains, "I won't leave her now." you hear her promise her friends before you drift asleep once more.

It's a late hour of the night when you stir; Laura is there and you know it because her feeble pulse sounds like a war drum in your ears and you can smell her blood through her paper-thin skin from behind the oak door. It infuriates you and you let your anger known. Though she doesn't flinch or scuttle backwards, true to her temperament you decide. Instead she tentatively inches closer until she's curled up beside the oak wood with her head leaning against the frame and you know that because you can see the imprint of her heat signature.

"Carmilla," she whispers.

You kick the door, then another kick, and another, and another; they grow in their intensity until you are a heaving exhausted pile and the timber frame starts to splinter. You're satisfied she'll run away and stay a safe distance from the danger you pose, and yet she fortifies herself and refuses to move.

"Get away from me." you growl with malice and violence from beyond your side of the door but true to her temperament, she disregards the demands of you, her beautiful revenant, and so instead pushes and turns the key inside the lock, opening the door.

You've hunched yourself up in the corner of the room; more beast than human, angular face, black eyes, mouth snarled into a precarious growl with dagger like incisors and you can see it in her eyes that you've thoroughly terrified her.

"Run." you beg, shaking; you're going to kill her, you decide, nose inhaling deep breaths and legs wound up like a predator ready to snatch it's prey right out of the air. Laura is going to die and you hate yourself for it.

She toes towards you tentatively and your ears twitch with each beat of her feeble pulse. She has these wide eyes that you always think make you look kinder when you see yourself in their reflection, but tonight you're not kind, tonight you're the master of her pain and suffering; and it's beautifully macabre how this thread has been added to the fiddle of the many ways you know Laura Hollis.

"Run!" you order with gnashing teeth and beg her one last time, though it's pointless and from the slowed thrumming of her pulse you both know it.

She didn't come in here with some naive and complex plan to save you, you realise entirely too late. She came in here entirely knowing she won't walk out alive and it's for you. It's always been for you. You're going to kill her and in true Laura Hollis fashion she is willing and ready so long as it's her idea instead of yours.

"I can't do that, I think," she licks her lips and watches you entirely entranced and frightened by the way you crouch in the shadows, "I think it's my turn to save your life." she decides firmly.

"Laura!" you roar desperately and weep and set your hands into fists. "Run!" you heave and stumble towards her.

"It's okay," she promises and closes the space between you both; hands to your jawline, mouth to your mouth one last time, and somehow you hold back your bite just long enough to tolerate that scalding kiss. "It's going to be okay." she promises and wraps her arms around you; dipping her nose along the expanse of skin between your neck and collar that smells familiar and safe, or so she always told you.

Your body stays wound up and stiff like a coiled spring; shuddering and growling. It's painful in the most primitive way possible. It's an animalistic pain and you won't let yourself forget this time, you won't, because you are the master of your own pain and misery too and falling in love with a girl so full to the brim with innocent wile and illusions of grandeur; foolishly believing she can temper and tame the most primitive parts of your true nature… this is by far in three-hundred years of life your most elaborate form of self-harm.

Your head reluctantly gives in and you dip down and nuzzle the crook of her neck; she closes her eyes and you know she's imagining you laying a path of kisses over her skin. For a moment you tempt the idea, but the bite comes quick and sharp because your humanity is a thin veil, an illusion, a thing you use to fool yourself and those around you into ignoring the dark and disgusting parts of yourself.

She gasps and stifles her whimper, brave to the end, and you gorge yourself hungrily at her open skin; licking and sucking fervently. You can taste her life. She's full of happiness and untempered love that pours like a river down the back of your throat.

You're going to kill her, and you know you won't survive this.

Your strong arms guide her to the stone floor as if you're two lovers caught in the moment of ardour; mouth at her neck, growling possessively and drinking like a leopard at your section of the stream. It's an intimate art and Laura plays her part well; wrapping her slender arms around your neck as she lies pinned to the stone beneath you like a wild rabbit bested by the fox.

"It's okay," Laura whispers in that assured way as the dizziness comes for her. "I want you to know that, okay? I want you to know that I love you and it's okay." she promises with a hazy slurred voice.

You lurk beneath the surface of yourself watching these things like a caged prisoner; subdued to your blood lust, you drink endlessly and take more than Laura can give you; she tastes like a cool rain in a permanent state of summer, like sunlight on skin, like the smell of the wet ground on the cusp of autumn, like the first gulp of good wine you ever took and the revenant within you that you owe a blood debt to is drunk on it all.

"None of this is your fault," Laura mutters lazily, gasping for breath as rogue droplets of blood escape your ravenous mouth and ran the length of her neck. "I think," she gasps, "I think loving you was always enough." she stumbles over herself with big wet eyes.

A gentle palm presses to the side of your cheek and her thumb works the length of space behind your ear and you can't stop; you don't stop; sobbing and heaving as she worked that small bit of skin.

Her pulse grows weaker like the flutter of a tired hummingbird but the revenant within you doesn't relent; gut swelling and sloshing with the sweet wine brewed in the vineyards of her veins.

She grows silent; arms slackening until they quickly slid right off your shoulders. They fall and land in an unnatural position where they stay and you feel the hot breath that scolds your collarbone grow tepid; you feel her weakening pulse wane from hummingbird wings into the thrumming of a dripping faucet that is running out of things to complain about.

You're going to kill her and this time, quite suddenly, you're aware of your crime and the sweet wine in your mouth tastes of spoiled fruit and the thick hotness that clings to inside of your mouth makes you retch and the fullness of your satiated stomach threatens to burst.

You throw yourself off of your sweet and innocent lover and blink your into focus.

"L… Laura," you appraise your work with a broken sob; clutching your hand to your mouth, you scoop your little human into your arms with a rejuvenated strength. "Come on, wake up!" you plea and lose fingers stroking hair that's paler than wheat. "Wake up, Creampuff." you encourage her gently as if this is all pretend, but it isn't, and with the familiar rasp to your voice; shuddering and filled with a self-loathing that threatens to consume you whole, you hold her to your chest and pray that the slow waning drum of her pulse that rings in your ears will stabilise into a beautiful melody of sorts.

"What the holy hell happened!" LaFontaine shrieks at the door and JP appears over their shoulder and in this moment; you wish it had been them, you wish you had killed them both for the grand crime of not walking in on you two when it was the singular occasion you needed it the most.

"Help her!" you resentfully beg as your lover sags into your arms and hangs there like a draped bit of cloth. "I told her to run!" you try to explain with a gnawing burn in your throat.

…

The chaos cleares like a storm that passes over whilst she sleeps, her mouth was dry, you were aware of that much and took the liberty of dabbing it with a wet cloth like her friends had instructed you to. She coughs at first, it's a small attempt to clear her throat and with it she winces from the throbbing on the side of her neck.

"Dearest," you weep with relief and you know it's the first thing she sees when she opens her eyes; you sobbing like a toddler and still violently disregarding your very nature.

"You're alive." she grins and exudes a contentedness that near on kills you. "How long have I been out?" she groans and tries to sit up; disregarding her predicament like a rabbit that licks its wounds and bounces back off into mischief with a little twitch of its nose.

You quickly halt her, gently laying her back down and tucking your leather jacket over her like a blanket. "A day." you say quietly and tuck a piece of hair out of her face; those two syllables are all you can manage so you reinforce the timber of yourself and try once more. "You were out for a day." you clear your aching throat.

"I know you must be angry with me."

"Furious," you shake with that brilliant twinkle of anger in your eyes and  refuse to temper yourself. You almost lost Laura. Laura could have died. It would have been your fault. It's these thoughts that have plagued you every second of every hour that she has slept, "Livid even." you bite your mouth. "You don't get to run around doing the saving, Laura. That's my job. I do the saving." you heave, "I would have died a thousand times if you—" the words got tangled in your throat and so you bite and set your knuckles between your teeth. "I would have died a _thousand_ times." you softly weep.

She disregards you once again and shoots up from the bed; wrapping her arms around your raven hair, it grows too hard to breathe and sit there just ideally waiting for her to be done and so instead you take her in your arms and swear a silent oath that this pure innocent thing is yours and you will keep her out of harm's way at all and any cost.

"I absolutely trusted you not to kill me." she promises you.

You shudder and simultaneously hate her and yourself at the same time, "I nearly killed you." you bite and pinch the bridge of your nose.

"Totally worth it." she whispered in that soft voice you can't resist and traces her nose against the expanse of skin between your jaw and collarbone that feel like home to her.

"It's going to be like this forever isn't it, you flying by the seat of your underwear into danger?"

"You're a great crash helmet." she lies back down and tugs you with her against the rough thread of the makeshift sheets, "Carm?"

"Mmm?" you close your eyes and make  a little noise from the crook of her shoulder that is officially home; and you decide you'll put down foundations here and make it a state of permanency.

"You love me, right?"

You kiss her and it's possessive and overpowering; your arm wrapping around her waist, your nose travelling the length of your wispling's nose. "I love you," you whisper, almost in sobs. "You are mine, you _shall_ be mine, and you and I are one forever."

"I think that would make me very happy." she promised and presses a kiss to you, her gentle and loyal beastling's, lips. "Immeasurably even." she adds and all you can taste is the sweetness of her mouth like an afterthought as pulls away with those big eyes and the soft curved smile that she saved for the moments when you inched closer towards a finishing line that represented the humanity she tutors you so graciously in.

 


	2. Couldn't Look You In The Eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [TW] Consensual first time sex that gets a little possessive and rough.

 

It's an ungodly hour of the night when you sneak back into the library you now call home. It was a successful hunt, the closest thing you've had to a feast in weeks infact. You and JP slipped into the quad the Zetas had somehow claimed as their own against the Corvae and plucked two of their brothers like spring flowers in bloom.

Like a mother bear watching its cub break through the skin of the river with its first salmon set between its teeth; there's an immeasurable pride that swelled you watching JP take down a large set Zeta boy armed to the teeth. You don't linger on the thought, but you wonder whether Mattie felt the same disgusting swell when she tutored you in all the things you know.

It's hard to dwell on it for long because you find yourself over your innocent and beautiful companion; blood still hot in your mouth, pupils dilated, nails digging half-crescent moons into the palm of your hand whilst she lies there blissfully asleep, existing in this simplistic state that leaves you in awe.

It lasted for a stretch of time that you didn't quite keep track of before she awoke frightened and gasping, kicked the sheets right off the bed and wrapped her knees up to her chest with her eyes fixing and adjusting to the room like two hollow pits.  _ 'It's just a nightmare.' _ you always promise her, a recurring dream that has haunted your innocent companion nearly nightly. Third time this week infact.

The dream starts sweet enough, or at least you imagine it does, she dreams of some semblance of a happy ending before your mother captures you both and puts you back beneath the earth in a tomb of blood. All whilst she watches the dirt rain down upon your coffin helplessly. She always cries when she recounts that part, so tonight you don't ask, you just close the distance and save the questions for later.

She sits their with black eyes, chuffing like a beast waiting to be put out of its misery and so you do just that, gently wrapping your hand around the bow of her shoulder, though your dearest quickly shrugs it off and lets out a helpless yelp. The noise forces you to take your cupped palm to her mouth to stifle the noise.

"Laura! It's okay, it's just me. You're having a nightmare, it's okay." you reassure her with hot breath against her ear until she sags boneless against your chest. "If I take my hand away, do you promise not to scream?" you mouth and feel little nervous breaths blast the palm of your hand.

She eventually nods.

"Good," you pull your hand away and tuck wisps of blonde hair behind her ear. "There's more out than usual tonight… It's hardly a propitious time for nightmares. If they hear us, well, screwed is an understatement." you whisper with a soft rasp and wrap yourself around her like a fog that exists solely to dampen her resolve.

She closes her eyes and allows herself to be taken into the cove of your hips as you guide her body back to the mattress. "I couldn't save you…" she barely mouths and you tuck her head beneath your chin, "you were clawing and howling and I couldn't—" she snaps like a rubber band but you hold her together.

"Do you know the most glaringly obvious problem with this recurring nightmare of yours beyond the fact that I now have something worth clawing my way through six-feet of dirt for?"

"What?" she sighs and wipes her eyes, and you've succeeded already.

"You have a disposition for saving me on occasions that I would really prefer you didn't." you quip and earn a tiny breath of a chuckle and an elbow to your ribs.

"That's not funny,"

"Oh, I am glaringly aware Miss Hollis."

The entire concave of your lower body is occupied with her thighs and bottom; your nose pressed into the crook of her neck; lips moving against the two puncture marks over her jugular, you're full to the brim with a tender kind of regret. She reads it expertly, her fingers suddenly locking with yours, her body shifting gently in your embrace and it's her way of saying,  _ 'You couldn't stop me if you tried, Carmilla Karnstein.' _ and you know it's true, you're powerless to this divine creature.

"It doesn't hurt," she says softly.

"You're a terrible liar." you huff and roll your eyes, there's a pause and you both know the bit that follows next, you both dread it with equal measure. "So I take it you had the same nightmare again, either that or a vivid dream that Sherlock didn't get renewed?" you ask tenderly and coax her with little chaste kisses against the bits of skin you can reach with your mouth.

There are times when she is an ocean or a mountain, or something else that feels so much more entirely important and magnificent than you; she's always more important and magnificent than you, or anyone else for that matter you quickly decide. Every now and again though, she's a small bit of kindling in the open neck of the woods and it's these few moments that you selfishly adore because you know that she needs you to protect her, and to be needed by an element is a proud calling indeed.

"It's getting better..."

_ "Terrible _ liar." you reiterate softly and your hands slip under your favourite t-shirt that she's claimed as her nightgown. You warm your hands and rub the soft skin on the bottom of her belly; a favourite haunt of yours that you like to visit, though not nearly as much as you'd like.

You kept her there for a moment, tending to her, melting her fears with your bare hands; she tolerates it for longer than you thought she would before the need to roll over and peer into your eyes overcomes her as it always does.

"Hello dearest," you whisper as she settles in front of you.

"Why do you love me?" she asks you with the most heartbreakingly tiny voice you think you might have ever heard, "You're playing such a dangerous game," she scalds you; jaw flexing, wet eyed. "You could be with someone just as strong as you, someone you don't have to worry about. Your mother," she glances away so you don't see how frightened she really is, but it's palpable, and you can taste it like a burning sulfur that invades your mouth. "Your mother knows that you will do anything to save me and that's going to be your flaw; somehow, someway, she's going to use me to get you."

"Look at me," you growl at her with a harsh infliction that makes her flinch and you can't help it, infuriated, imploding and unable to appear otherwise. "I will  _ never _ let her separate us.  _ Ever. _ Am I understood?" you say with the familiar composed rasp that you desperately claw back at, though your eyes are two raging pits of hollow darkness.

She inhales a deep breath, smelling you, and you feel ashamed knowing very well indeed that the thick scent of blood still clings to your hot breath. "I'm glad you got to feed tonight..." she notes and tugs your chin with gentle fingers so you'll look her in the eye and know that she doesn't resent you for it.

"I didn't kill anyone—"

"I wasn't implying you did."

At that your resolve wanes into a grin: it felt reminiscent of the days when you first began courting after your dalliance with heroism in the Lustig building; back when you both absurdly played along with the pretense that she didn't know what you did during the violent hours of the dark morning when the cries of your dinner certainly echoed up to her window. 

You would sneak out all hours of night to feed and hunt for necessity and occasionally sport, and when you would come back, she would be asleep with starlight dappling the irish curve of her nose and the open draw of her lips. Against your better judgement you would watch her sleep and breathe. Sometimes, after an hour of this game, she would awaken and then you would both begin the intrinsic art of rationalising what you knew to be something lustful.

You would lie, blushing and hiding your languid gaze and say, _ 'Look at the stars Cupcake. Look at them up there; dying and pretending otherwise. It's beautiful.'  _

She would say something short and pithy. She would yawn and reply:  _ 'That's not beautiful, it's tragic.' _ and you, well, you would stare at her in sheer wonderment and try to defeat the dryness of your mouth and fail miserably.

You'd reply,  _ 'You're wrong it's beautiful and it's tragic: the two are not mutually exclusive.'  _ with a drunken confidence that clung heavily to each word from your satiated bloodlust.

You smile at the memory of the small game you both played masterfully and breathed a content sigh; enough to blow the dust off of you both. 

Your hand slips over her waist to the bit of flesh between her ribs and hip that you like to draw circles against, it's one of the few guilty pleasures you allow yourself concerning the way her body responds to your touch. There's something sensual about it, the way she lies there with your t-shirt barely covering the backs of her thighs. She allows you to move the t-shirt further up her body; even lifts herself up to assist you, until eventually she's laid out before you in nothing but her underwear and your t-shirt covering her breast.

You're careful to keep your hand in one localised area, fingers dancing over that spot between her ribs and her hip, because if you venture elsewhere you know you will take her; fingers gripping her hair, biting her skin, clawing the insides of her marble white thighs until you own the divine being in your bed and she uncontestedly belongs to you for all the years there is breath in your chest.

You keep your hand between her ribs and hip; and it damn well nearly kills you.

"Carmilla," she whispers.

"Mmm?"

"Can I ask a question?"

At that you smirk, "I don't know, can you?"

"Do you ever think about… you know?" she trails off and though the room is pitch black scarce for a slither of light that cuts a leyline from the crack in the door right through both of your stretched out figures; you can see her blushing; you can smell her desire; you can taste the pressure change in the room.

"What?" you say nervously and blinking becomes a thoughtful act.

"Do you think about us making love?" she asks quietly and grabs your tempered hand and keeps it over her skin; holding you to her, demanding that you don't pull away or evaporate into smoke. It's logical reasoning you decide, it takes everything not to dissolve into a freeform gaseous state right there and then.

"Is that what you think about dearest?" you clear your throat and dare to ask, you hate yourself for blushing, but you are a wraith-like creature with pre-revolutionary sensibilities and the two are in an equal battle with one another. "Because it pleases me very much to imagine that you do." you add with a little smirk and nearly die right there and then.

You can feel her skin grow flush, you can hear it; the capillaries expanding and engorging blood to the surface of her skin as a hint of embarrassment overcomes her and you quickly decide your three-hundred years of life have been leading to this. "Well, maybe I'm thinking about it considerably more what with the end of days cometh." she teases and you're confident that death has become you.

"Trust me, Cupcake, you don't know what you're asking for." you put a quick end to the fantasy with a short pained chuckle and bite your mouth, "If I go there. If  _ we _ go there," you quickly change your pronoun, "There's no coming back—"

"I don't want to go back." she cuts you off and you fall in love just a little bit more.

"You don't want possessive vampire crap and I don't  _ need _ to own you." you lie so casually you almost believe it yourself. "If something isn't broken, don't try and fix it… right?"

"Please?" she asks softly, "I want  _ you." _ she mouths against your shoulder and the tiny bit of restraint you're holding onto explodes like gunpowder inside of you; you go off with a bang, pupils dilated, chest rising with a tumultuous ardour, your hand curling and wrapping around hers tighter than you would ever like to hold her.

You press your mouth to her jaw in a hot kiss, and then to her ear, dragging your mouth against her cheek; the feeling of her skin against your skin in this almost violent passion nearly throws you over the edge of yourself. "Say it again." you demand with a growl. "To be mine is to be no other's for eternity; to belong to me, to be mine to worship and mine to adore. To be mine to die for." you say with a need that you can no longer hide. "So if you want it... say it again."

"I want it." she almost pleads and pulls you close against the inferno of her body and you wonder how long she's already belonged to you for, because you know in true Laura Hollis fashion everything is a self-aware action, though you have never seen her like this; pulling you into her bare skin, teeth nipping at your ear, fingers digging into your shoulders. She does it with a confidence that is unbecoming of her experience but you're high on it in a way that makes the inside of your skin itch and your stomach tie itself in knots.

"Creampuff." you manage to pull away from the spot on her neck that you lick and suck fervently to mutter the word.

"Yes?" she gasps.

"No," you can't help but chuckle and pull your head up to stare into her gentle languid eyes with two bottomless pits of desire. "If you want me to stop, say that word."

She barely purses her lips to acknowledge your instruction before you dive again and work the skin along her thin neck; kissing, licking and sucking ardently as you illicit stray little strangled whimpers from her lips. You position yourself between her thighs so she's trapped beneath you and the thought excites you immeasurably.

There's a possessive kind of violent love that's trapped within you; pawing at the cage where you keep those desires and though you're afraid to let it loose, you feel her breathe and groan beneath you and worry you won't be able to keep its ferocity in check much longer; her dainty fingers waiting at her sides like antsy little things, and she'll wait there for as long as she has to because she knows that you are in charge and you dictate the pace of tonight.

"Carmilla," she whispers and your name sounds beautiful and desperate on her tongue.

"Yes dearest," you pull her t-shirt over the globes of her breasts and make work of the soft untouched virgin skin of her chest with fingernails that ever so gently trail over her body and leave goosebumps in their wake.

"Fuck," she mouths and catches a breath.

You hear the dirty word roll off her tongue and it awakens the monster inside of you. There's something indescribable about the feeling that overcomes you; watching your dearest come undone beneath you and pull back the veil of her innocent sensibilities. You want more dirty words. You want dozens of them rolling and knocking around together inside of her mouth. You want to paint the air with your reverent devotion to her body and so that is what you do.

You capture her nipples inside of your mouth one by one; teeth grazing over them, tongue swirling in a rhythm you haven't quite decided yet. Her back arches and her chest rises further into your mouth with magnificent poise, she hisses softly every time your teeth nip her hardening peaks but the sweet crescendo of her hitched breaths tell you in the most understated of terms how much she enjoys belonging to you in this carnal way.

So you nip a little harder.

Her body surrenders to your will and the thick smell of her arousal consumes your senses. It's unlike anything you've ever experienced; she is intoxicating and poisonous and everything you've always wanted wrapped in a pretty ribbon and you know, quite certainly in fact, that with this act of submission your fate is sealed irrevocably: you will die to protect this beautiful tiny thing that belongs to you.

She bucks her hips into the rough material of your jeans and her antsy fingers no longer answer to the logical part of her brain; she's pulling at your shoulders, begging for more of you, desperate for you to crash against her. "Please," she whimpers and pulls you into her soft lips with her hands pressed against your cheeks. "Please, Carmilla, touch me." she begs into your open mouth.

"Why?" you whisper in that husky voice that leaves her thighs wet.

"Because I belong to you." she promises ardently.

She stares at you like a wide eyed rabbit and there's a silence that follows her promise and it chokes you. It throttles you. You can't breathe. Your chest is shuddering and you're trying to pull in oxygen but you  _ can't _ breathe; you own this magnificent slight creature with her resplendent brown eyes that could halt earthquakes; her delicate smile belongs to you as do the smooth curves and globes of her pale flesh that slip into your hand with ease: they are yours and only yours to touch.

"Carmilla you're crying," she says suddenly, full of gentle concern, she wipes away a single tear that dribbles down your cheek and you catch her wrist as if she's a child you've caught stealing.

Embarrassed as you are, you don't say a word, instead you push her down into the mattress and hold her there with your weight shifted forward so you're pressed into her centre. You kiss her and it's different this time, it's possessive and angry, your teeth make work of her bottom lip and your fingers hook around her white lace underwear and with one long tug — she is completely bare.

"Much better dearest," you murmur into her mouth and spread her thighs until the armpits of her knees hook around your arms; she's shaking, gripping onto your arms so tight and staring at you with eyes so languid and gentle you know she loves you as much as you could ever love her in return and it nearly moves you to that dangerous emotional territory once again.

you don't stay there for long, you make quick work of the lengths of her body and move down to her centre, settling between her thighs with your mouth dangerously close to what you imagine will be the most divine thing you'll ever bare witness to.

You kick off your jeans but the t-shirt and the underwear stay on, and it's a fine balance you've orchestrated between intimacy and control. Her head peaks over the horizon of her breasts and you know she's desperate to catch a glimpse of your body.

"I love you." she tells you in a long drawn out gasp of a noise; you run your hand up the space of  her stomach and chest, with it she lies down and settles in the sheets; legs twitching, chest rising tumultuously, on the edge of herself for you.

You don't answer, because she already knows you love her; she knows it with a certainty you know to be absolute because there are few truths within the universe as apparent or transcendent as your love for this beautiful little dear thing. Instead you dive forward, nose pressed into a sparse patch of blonde curls, your mouth over her vulva, tongue barely grazing the most sensitive parts of her.

She nearly wails; if it wasn't for the forearm she set between her teeth you're certain every vampire from her to Styria would hear her wanton need for you. In the most selfish and irresponsible of ways you hope that they do because as someone who lived to see the greatest compositions of humankind whilst they were still in their infancy; you know the sound of Laura's untempered lustful whimpers are the most beautiful song you've ever heard.

You run your tongue through her heat and gather as much of that intoxicating wetness as you can, you feel her body vibrate with need, she wails again, though this time the forearm is barely enough to stifle her sound. "Be quiet for me," you order her gently as your tongue retracts from her apex.

"I'll try, no promises." her head falls back.

"Good girl."

You set to work and this time they'll be no pauses because she is yours to do with as you please and in this scenario all that pleases you is to please her in return. You devour her; licking and gently sucking and running your tongue over every detailed bit of her folds you can find. She's delicious and sweet like a summer peach. Her labia become flushed and her core swollen with the attention you lavish upon her and all she can do is bite the jacket you fashioned into a makeshift pillow for her.

Her bottom lifts off of the bed in a rhythm that becomes more frantic and you can see the quake in her hips getting ready to drag her under the surface and so you slow down your ministrations and treat her to gentle tentative kisses over her tender flesh. You won't let her peak too soon, not until you're satisfied.

Her hands dip down into your territory to search for bits of you she can hold onto, she grabs a rogue chiseled bit of your jaw to cup and then a handful of your raven hair and settles on the latter with strangled whimpers that wrack her body every time you press a kiss anywhere close to her clitoris.

"You hanging in there?" you muster a growl.

"Barely." she moans breathless and her grip tightens in your hair.

Your attention turns to the place where her heat and wetness emanates and you have to posture yourself because between her rosy pink lips is a hidden place that you want to pounce and claim as your own; you close your eyes for a moment and stable yourself as the urge becomes more apparent and all you can think about is pushing inside of her with an unrelenting force and fucking her until the gnawing burn gives way to a complete and whole kind of pleasure she's never experienced, until she's an aching mess spread out before you and though you desperately wish the prospective sounds of her being deflowered don't excite the revenant who exists within you, they entirely do. 

As if she can read your mind, her grip in your raven hair relaxes and her fingers creep down to cup your cheek. "It's okay," she breathes and tenderly strokes the spot on your neck that usually elicits a pur from you. "I want to share this with you." she whispers and once more, you can't breathe.

"I don't trust myself not to be too rough." you admit quietly and settle on her thigh with tender kisses.

"I trust you." she promises and smooths down your hair, "Please?" she pleads and you've already lost, powerless to this beautiful creature.

You dip down between her thighs and start once more, tender long licks over her vulva and your swirling tongue swelling her most sensitive parts with a deep arousal until she's panting and trembling with a lustful abandon.

You penetrate her quickly and without warning, your fingers sliding inside of her with an unrelenting force until the membrane gives way to you almost painlessly and your knuckles rest at her opening; she didn't make a single noise bar from one deep breath and the pressure of her hands gripping your hair doesn't relent.

You sit up and lean over her and kiss her jaw, then her cheek, then the slope of her nose, then her clenched eyelids and finally her quivering throat. "Cupcake, look at me," you encourage her softly and you make sure to keep the digits inside of her as still as possible until she tells you where to be. She finally opens her eyes and locks onto your concerned stare and you know she's aching.

"Keep going, just be gentle." she tells you and traces the tip of her nose over yours.

You sink back down to where you belong and do just that; for the longest time you don't move your fingers, you kiss and you nibble on her lips and gently tease her hardening clitoris with the flat of your tongue until the wet heat that soaks your fingers drips on to your hand.

Tentatively, gently, reverently, ardently, you make your first movement and work the spot within her that pressed against your fingers and though she was half ecstasy and half ache from the sensation of being filled you could no longer hide your own desire; fingers twisting, mouth lapping at her softest flesh, groans vibrating her labia, spare hand kneading her breasts.

"Carmilla," she moaned and it was almost a plea. "I… I need to—"

"It's okay." you promise and pick up your pace a sliver faster. "Just this once... you don't have to ask permission." you purr over her mound and she nearly melts there and then. "On one condition." you add and her eyes shoot open.

"Anything!" she groans as you touch a particularly sensitive spot.

"Tell me you love me whilst you do."

At that you dive back between her thighs with a purposeful and unrelenting pace, your fingers tenderly rubbing the swollen area inside of her vagina that earned the reckoning of her quaking hips and your mouth claimed her and owned her in all the ways that you fantasized about when you dreamed of this; she is yours, and it's a proud and overwhelming feeling that you channel and take out on the tender swollen flesh of her vulva with eager and deep lashings from your tongue like she's a piece of fruit that you  _ need  _ the last drop of nectar from.

The first wails escape her mouth and though they're delicate she doesn't care to disguise them, her legs tighten around your cheeks until you are trapped between them and her body shakes with such effort that you have to hold her to the bed. 

"I love you!" she begins to plead, "I love you so much Carmilla, I love you!" You grin right into her core and stroke each side of her hips as she explodes against you like a supernova; fingers gripping your hair, core grinding against your open mouth, muscles tensing and ricocheting like fireworks beneath her skin. "I love you so much. I love you." her voice begins to tremble and you hear the clenching of her throat, "I love you Carm." she trails into a whisper as the last quiver ripples through her.

Her thighs loosen enough for you to prise yourself out of their vice lock grip; you crawl up to her, kissing her and scooping her into your arms, because she's yours now; yours to hold and yours to keep and yours to adore forever.

"I love you," she whimpers quietly against your ear and wraps her arms around you.

"Mine." you nearly growl and kiss her forehead, your arms holding her burning skin against your flesh and your body weathering the storm of her beating heart that drums into you like a hammer.

"Yours." she promises and nuzzles against the bit of your neck that feels like home, "Always and always."

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Still with me kids? Beep-beep, toot-toot, buckle in buckeroo and all aboard the first-time sex bus to Smutville...


End file.
